


Racing the Waters

by Zoya1416



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, Loyalty, Rafting, Risk-taking, Teen Emperor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 00:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8511160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: The 17 year old Emperor is bored with self-defense classes and wants something more exciting. He's not the only one at risk, however.





	

Gregor listened to every argument his regent made against his plans, and then said, “No.”

“No?” said Aral. “No as is you're giving up this idea, or no as in you're telling me you still want to do it?”

Gregor glared. Seventeen and he'd been Emperor since five, a very long time. They were in Gregor's smaller office, more personalized, although it didn't contain anything childish. Beside timed logic puzzles on the shelves, to stay in practice, and various holocubes (some with benign exterior images hiding more exotic ones), it had an excellent painting of the Nexus, with routes and travel times—which he'd never get to see unless he insisted on it, and only get agreement if there had been no wars, insurgencies, criminal actions, or even serious plotting (ie Komarr), for the last five years, so, really—essentially Beta and Escobar, and he'd seen Beta. Earth was right out. Still, it gave him something to think about. The other painting in his office was of the river running underneath the Star Bridge. The river he was going to go rafting on.

“We can set you up with a professional boat service, you've not had a chance for an outing for awhile, I know—”

“An 'outing,' Aral? As if I was still five?” He was furious. He would have said more, but in the last few years he'd learned to do more with less.

“No, of course not,” and Aral gave him a palms-down gesture, which also meant 'calm down,' and really the Emperor shouldn't have to put up with this. Wasn't going to put up with this.

“I am going kayaking on the river. It's not a hard pull, and I practice rowing all the time in the gym.”

“Yes, sire. You are aware that a novice kayaker will have to start with a two-man canoe, and progress to a one-man canoe.”

He thought darkly, “Aral wouldn't know a thing about this. He's no boater.”

“No, Aral, I know that you don't sail well,” he said, pityingly. (He had to take on Aral every way he could. The great man's lack of sailing skill was famous among those who knew him.) “But I can start with a one-man kayak. I will have all the armsmen in the river around me, and an instructor next to me in another kayak.”

Aral Vorkosigan sat back and waited. Yes, he was the one who'd taught Gregor how to do that, but Gregor was learning. He was also getting annoyed. Aral was going to have to accept that an Emperor—a teen Emperor!—needed more exercise than gymnastics and personal defense training. Neither he nor Aral liked riding. There was such a short time on Barryar that boats could be ridden, or even raced, between the tempestuous spring, the hot but thunderstorm-prone summer, and the quick chill of autumn. He wasn't going to miss this season. In fact, he'd already booked an instructor. This afternoon was cleared, even if Aral hadn't realized it yet.

“I'm actually starting this afternoon. Kirschmann Kayaks and Rafts has cleared their schedule for me and WE are visiting them. Please feel free to accompany US.”

Aral didn't deserve the 'WE' treatment often, but Gregor was learning that he shouldn't hesitate to deploy it. In three years, no, two and a half, he'd have reached his majority and would have no more damn regent. Aral as a foster father was superb, none better, and he loved the man dearly. But as his regent—a reasonable empire would have split these roles, perhaps. Or maybe that scheme would have had great power plays over the head of a still-minor Emperor.

He stood up, flashing one rare grin.

“Come on. I'm going to check them out now.”

There were so many kinds of personal watercraft! The ones for quiet lake paddling, for white-water rafting (his mouth watered), for—playboating? What the hell—these were weird little one man boats made for doing tricks in competitions. 

The owner, realizing that the THE EMPEROR was doing the shopping in person, was going on nervously about every tiny feature of each different kind, when Gregor interrupted him.

“Can I get out on a kayak today? You have the two man kind, I know.”

Aral opened his mouth quickly, but Gregor was ahead of him.  
“No, I know what you're thinking, but—see?”

A large duffel bag in the trunk of the groundcar held a wetsuit, with a helmet, which had face protection, with additional neck extension protectors. It had small compressed oxygen tanks on the neck extensions—plus a custom built lightweight waterproof jacket to wear under a fluorescent orange life jacket. Aral gazed at these preparations, tapping his blunt fingers against his thighs. He was not quite smiling when he turned, but his eyes were crinkled.

“How long had you been planning this? To spring it on me seems—”  
Unfair? Unsporting? Taking too much initiative without checking with me? Gregor watched Aral wrestle with these ideas, until he gave up with a laugh.

“I see that you and the owner here are in cahoots. Now tell me how we're going to protect you from drowning yourself.”

The kayak-company owner started in, “Now, sire, first thing you're going to learn is to roll the kayak.—”

Gregor saw Aral close his eyes and wince.

“Roll the kayak so that you can come up on the other side if it tips over. So you won't drown. The kayaks have their skirting covers, see, where this fastens into the boat and the jacket—it's not sinkable. Water can't get in. But it might roll. Now the place for you to begin, sire, is here in the end of the lake, it's dead still, and you can get the instruction from my men. We've also put forward orders for you—will it be all twenty armsmen? With you?”

“That's class—”

“—ified,” finished Gregor. “I might need a different number for each kind of boating and what I plan to do. I think ten will do today.” He motioned to the groundcars leading and following his, and the armsmen come up behind him, holding their own personal wetsuits similar to his.

“Wait,” said Aral, finally capitulating. “You can't put the oxygen tanks on the neck extensions themselves. They would be heavy and overbalance you. I think what would work is oxygen in the nacelles of the jacket itself, each with a separate rip-proof and waterproof design. That would help the buoyancy. Tubing could be placed here, and here, see—”

Gregor finally got into a kayak later than afternoon after the detailing was finished. It was only a small circle at the nearly flat end of the river, a half point rapid if that, with the ten armsmen surrounding him, and, he was sure, ImpSec all around the kayak store, but it was fun. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%

Three months later he was far from Vorbarr Sultana, and looking at class 2+ rapids. These were hardly ever dangerous, but much more exciting. The wind whipping across the white waves hadn't been there when they started out, but he had no intention of turning back. He'd had a lot of fun here last week, rushing down the green water. The temperature had dropped from a sunny late end of summer to the harsher one of autumn. This time he might well need the armsmen, who'd begun taking larger rafts beside him, just in case. He checked his carabiners. 

The put-in into the river was only six inches, and his kayak took it smoothly. He'd personally checked the skirting every time he was out. No leaving it to anyone else, no matter how experienced. It was the same as checking space armor, he thought. 

There was no time for thinking, because he was churning downstream in faster conditions than he'd imagined. The wind cutting across the river had pushed this to class 3, and the water was unstable, he thought. He needed to get into an eddy and study the water for a moment, and found the next one. God, it was glorious in this bright autumn day, with the storm clouds having passed over them before the put in. High sun, flashing water—he'd never enjoyed anything so much.

A cry interrupted his pleasure and he turned to see that one of the armsmen was in trouble. It was one of the older ones, Poliades, who hadn't been on a river until his emperor started instruction. The man had loyally tried to enter the eddy to stay with him, but the eddy line, stronger and rougher today, had caught him. As Gregor watched in horror, the kayak flipped over. The man was trying to roll, he could tell, but because of the roughness could not complete it.

Without hesitation he flew across the eddy to reach the trapped armsman, but could only grasp at the grab loops. They slipped out of his hand, and now he met the eddy line. How long had the man been underwater? Coldwater immersion and hypothermia slowed the drowning effect, he knew, but you couldn't depend on it. He looked frantically downstream. A small tree had fallen before them—something like a strainer was developing. The situation could become lethal quickly.

He paddled on grimly, automatically adjusting for the new parameters of this familiar ride. When he reached Poliades, he pushed down on the side of the kayak nearest him, reaching across to pull the other up. Hand of God maneuver, and he'd never had to use it before. There was resistance, but thankfully they'd reached a quieter stretch, aware from the tree strainer. The maneuver didn't work, though. The water was cold enough to make his fingers numb, and he reached out frantically again. Then Kirschmann came up beside him, added his strength, and slowly the other kayak righted itself. Gregor helped him snap on the carabiners, and they pulled the disabled kayaker to the shore. Gregor quickly found a take-out. His armsmen hastily pulled him out, tugging at the kayak skirt to free him. 

“Is he okay? Does he need any more oxygen? I didn't know the eddy line was so strong.” Gregor panted. 

Kirschmann looked up from the CPR and motioned to one of the other armsmen to join him. With no hesitation Gregor pushed the armsman aside, bending down to close his own mouth over the distressed kayaker. It only took a few more minutes, but the man finally awoke, and vomited river water on Gregor's suit.

They all cheered, for the rescue, and then began kneeling as Gregor climbed to his feet. He waved them back up. A mug of strong warm tea, sugared for quick energy, was pressed into his hand, and then he did sit down on a log, allowing them to swarm over him with blankets. The oldest armsmen, Jenkins, sixty plus years, sat down next to him.

“I'm going to have to tell the Regent, sire.”

“Of course.”

“I'm going to tell him how your quick thinking saved a life.”

“Yes, after risking it.”

“So—have you done what you set out to do? Ride the rapids and come home to tell about it? Is this enough?” It wasn't a complaint, although nearly.

Gregor took another swig of the tea. He almost wished it had something stronger, but alcohol would interfere with his warming.

“Not in the least. I'm sorry that I didn't scout this more carefully, and I will watch the weather much better. But I'm not giving it up. It will be better if I don't take over class 2s, though.”

Jenkins winced. “Yes, sire. If this is what you need to do.” was all he could say. He got up and went over to check on his wounded charge.

Gregor nodded, thoughtfully. It was certainly an error to have underestimated the water. He'd learned much, though, including that he couldn't risk anyone else for his own pleasure. But he'd already learned how very much he needed to escape from his office. To get his heart pumping. If he didn't do if often enough, he would be more likely to choose riskier venues. After he got through with the ass-chewing (respectful ass-chewing) Aral would give him, he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I think this one could have been better. It's longer than my usual short ones, and feels a little floppy. But I wrote it while listening to the US presidential election, and it was a kind of therapy. I could write about Gregor testing his wings a bit instead of, you know, breaking down in tears.
> 
> Also, and I swear I didn't intend it, I want to know what kind of "exotic" images Gregor has hidden in his benign holocubes. C'me on people, he's seventeen!


End file.
